


A Person Has Control

by SharpestScalpel



Series: Bucky Barnes, Mama's Boy (The Winifred Barnes And Sarah Rogers Show) [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, OFCs are in the past, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prosthesis, Puberty, Therapy, disability feelings, mental health, recovering from trauma, shower scene, sometimes you just have to write a little jerk-off fic to feel good about your day, trauma-related impotence, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7659721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestScalpel/pseuds/SharpestScalpel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Other considered names for this fic include: "Bucky Barnes Would Watch Steve Hump A Mattress In A Heartbeat" and "Bucky Barnes Begins To Get His Groove Back. And By Groove I Mean Sex."</p><p>Bucky sleeps with Steve every night now. This has led to some...frustration.</p><p>In which Bucky Barnes takes a shower and takes care of a particularly stubborn erection - and reminds himself of an important lesson along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Person Has Control

**Author's Note:**

> I've lost control of my life, obviously. Welcome to my jerk-off fic for this fandom; I seem to write masturbation no matter where I wind up.
> 
> ETA: While this is definitely a fic in a series, I think it is clear on its own. The only really NECESSARY context is that Bucky is friends with the other Avengers even though they don't make an appearance here. :)

Bucky stands under the spray of the shower, more hot water and steam than he ever would have dreamed about back in the Brooklyn he remembers, and contemplates his own erection. From his perspective, looking down at it, his penis looks particularly red and stubborn.

Red is accurate. Stubborn is maybe more subjective. It’s not like his cock has a mind of its own, not any more than anyone else’s genitals. It’s just that his hard on won’t quit, won’t go down, and he’s not actually eager to turn the water over all the way to cold. He’d much rather his body get the message that he’s got things to do and a boner doesn’t figure into any of them.

He makes a sort of encouraging _calm down_ gesture at it. Then Bucky has to roll his eyes at himself. He’s a goddamned adult. He started jerking off when he was 11, obsessed with the tight feeling low in his groin that had started reliably exploding into colors behind his squeezed-shut eyes. He had woken up in the mornings to the sticky remnants of dreams, found friction wherever he could to relieve the tension that never seemed to let him go.

Ages 12 and 13 had been primarily defined by fighting in alleys and then figuring out how to hide the inappropriate stiffies he walked away from fights with. He still has no idea how Steve didn’t ever pick up on that.

So it isn’t that Bucky doesn’t know how to masturbate. It’s just that he… Hasn’t. He’s got some vague and unpleasant memories of former handlers objecting to it but even though he knows he’s _allowed_ to now, he’s had other priorities.

His penis apparently does not care about Bucky’s priorities. It has a to-do list of its own and item number one on it appears to be stealing all the blood from Bucky’s actual brain. Bucky’s brain needs that blood. That’s how his brain gets oxygen. That’s how he…thinks. And. Stuff.

He thinks.

Bucky has no idea. He doesn’t know how his brain works - when it works, he counts it as a damn miracle - but he’s pretty sure oxygen is involved. He could ask his doctors. Or the Internet. But mostly he suspects that would be a bad idea because then they’d ask why he wanted to know and he’d have to explain the erection situation.

There have been a lot of things, Bucky thinks, about which he should feel ashamed. And that’s overlooking his entire history as a brainwashed assassin. There’s the time he puked on Stevie’s shoes, for example. And that was just last month after discovering he really doesn’t go for ylang ylang and fennel in his ice cream. Fennel. Christ.

Never again the days of fennel and ylang ylang. His mouth had tasted like a hipster salad sprinkled with incense. He’d been ready to go burn that ice cream place down.

The point is, Bucky thinks, he’s got stuff he probably ought to burn up with embarrassment about and he can’t be bothered. But there is no way in hell he’s calling his doctors and telling them he can’t deal with his own dick right now.

Bucky does a visual check and, yeah, no, reliving that flavor disaster has not abated his signs of physical arousal one bit.

This has got to be a side effect of sleeping cuddled up with his boyfriend.

Stevie, his _boyfriend_ , his even more affectionate now that they’ve defined the relationship. And it isn’t like Steve has been hiding the effect Bucky has on Steve - just this morning Steve had nuzzled the back of Bucky’s neck and _breathed on him_ until Steve could stand to move away from the warmth of Bucky’s body. 

As far as Bucky knows, Steve doesn’t have any hang ups about jerking off in the shower. Which is probably why Steve has yet to hump the mattress like Bucky has woken up doing. At least not that Bucky’s caught him.

That’s a nice thought though. Steve has a great ass, all bunch and flex. And Stevie has proven pretty amenable to just about anything Bucky’s asked for. He’d probably let Bucky watch.

Of course, unless Bucky figures out how to deal with his current problem, watching Steve get himself off grinding into those real nice sheets of his would just makes matters worse. Because Bucky would absolutely end up hard again and probably throbbing like he is now because that fucking ice cream wasn’t a sexy thought but Steve - well. Bucky’s always going to get himself going for his best baby doll and that’s no joke. 

So. Bucky figures he has two options. He can crank the taps over to cold and force his body to literally chill out. Or he can get over whatever mental block has been blocking him. He can touch himself. With his hand. Just the flesh one. He thinks the metal one might be weird.

Since he started wearing the nail polish, since he and Steve have started casually referencing each other as boyfriends, Bucky’s had a couple of these moments where he’s had to realize he’s acting on old programming and then push past it. This feels bigger than the thing where he always waits for Clint to leave a room first so Bucky can cover their exit. Even though no one is going to attack them at the coffee shop probably. This isn’t like the way he chooses where to sit based on defensive position and sight lines.

It’s just that sometimes Bucky’s body remembers things better than his sunny side up egg brains. Hydra could fry him until his yolk was hard and dry if they wanted to but his muscles and his nerve endings always shied away when there was a lesson he was supposed to have learned. He doesn’t have to remember what was done to him to know that even thinking about getting himself off is a big deal.

And, in fact, that actually makes him want to do it more, Bucky thinks. Because Hydra stole a whole lot from him but he is going to be damned before they steal all of his orgasms for the rest of his life. He deserves to feel good. It’s fine if _he_ doesn’t want to masturbate but if the only thing holding him back is what his handlers would have done? Well.

All he has to do to spit in their eye right now is reach his hand down there to his penis and stroke it. 

Suiting action to the thought is a lot more difficult than Bucky wants it to be. Instead of going for the direct approach, he settles his hand low on his stomach, lets his fingers rest on the trail of hair that cuts down over the slight curve of his abdomen where he doesn’t have zero percent body fat anymore. He’s always been prone to carrying little pockets of softness and now that he’s eating what he should - plus a shit load of dessert - instead of half-starving on nutrient goop forced through a tube, he’s even working on a little bit of pudge under his chin.

Stevie seems to love it. And Bucky’s pretty pleased with it himself; it makes his face look familiar to him again.

His pubic hair catches in curls around his fingers. Bucky has seen enough porn on his phone now to wonder if he ought to try getting rid of it but the last thing he wants to try with a shaky hand is putting a razor anywhere close to his balls. And that is _definitely_ not something he can ask Tasha for help with.

She’d probably agree to do it. But there’s no telling what else she might shave off while she was at it. She was always his favorite little spiderling for a very good reason.

Besides, he’s caught enough glimpses of Steve to see that Steve still has a thatch of dark blond at his crotch. It’s obviously not something everyone does. Just another reason, Bucky thinks, to know that porn can’t be trusted.

Bucky tugs at his own dark hair a little, not a lot of pressure, just enough that he can feel his skin tighten and resist. His dick bobs, just as red and stubborn as when he started. He’s leaking a little, the head wet from more than just shower water.

It ought to be easy to thumb through that slickness, wrap his palm around his length. But it isn’t. Bucky’s hand tremors and instead he rubs his fingers around the base of his dick like he’s trying to sneak up on it. Which, he guesses, is actually exactly what he’s trying to do.

He’d feel ridiculous about that if it didn’t feel so good, but the pressure of his fingers makes his hard on flex and drip a little more precome. It’s like a tease. It’s like he’s got one of the neighborhood good girls in the backseat of their father’s car and they’ve finally stuck a hand down his pants just to see what all the fuss is about.

It’s like he’s got Steve on the sofa in that old apartment while Sarah was out on a nursing shift, Steve and Bucky feeling each other up for the very first time.

That’s a good memory, one he wants to hold on to. One he’ll want to get off to, Bucky thinks, if he can work back up to making this kind of thing a habit instead of a Herculean effort.

Bucky snorts at himself, exasperated, and it’s the momentum he needs to give himself a loose grip, to hold himself just by the root of his cock until he can catch his breath and draw his hips back so he can push through his fingers. The feeling is electric and it clenches all the muscles in his legs the same way electricity at certain voltages does. Bucky flails with his metal hand and latches on to the shower curtain, which rips off a few of the rings holding it to the rod.

If he survived everything he’s lived through just to kill himself by slipping and falling in the shower while relearning how to jerk off, Bucky thinks that might be the thing that finally embarrasses him. But he’s definitely forgotten how good this feels, how intense the slid of his hand on his dick would be.

No wonder he spent so much time doing this that summer he was 14 and Steve was sending letters back home about some kid he’d met at camp who played the guitar.

Stupid guitar.

Bucky shakes his head. Distraction won’t lead him down the path of orgasms. And he wants to follow that path. He’s probably half-way down that path already. Maybe a third of the way. 

The tile is cold against his skin when Bucky presses his cheek against it and he doesn’t have any idea how the shower stall stays cool when the water is this hot but he’s glad for it, revels in the sensory difference between the air and the porcelain. It gives him something else to take in and focus on so he can tighten his fingers a little, give himself a little more friction.

Oh, that’s nice. That’s exactly what he wants. He puts a little more hip into it, braces himself against the shower stall wall with his metal hand so he can really fuck into his fist without worrying about his balance.

He’d always appreciated those backseat hand jobs. The girls had been eager once they’d made it that far, excited to be with someone they could trust not to push them who would also let them satisfy their curiosity. It meant soft fingers sliding down and learning the shape of him from the ridge of his cockhead to the seam of his balls. With the really adventurous ones, it meant that sensitive spot high up right _behind_ his balls. There’s no way for Bucky to reach that spot, not with what he’s focused on doing at the moment, but he thinks about it, remembers how he’d bite his own lip bloody and shoot off like a bottle rocket.

The base of his spine tingles, his stomach tightens.

Those are good signs, Bucky thinks, breathes into the feelings instead of trying to block them out or pull away. He’s making himself feel good because he’s allowed; he deserves to feel good.

It’s terrifying to think it as plainly as that. Bucky doesn’t think he could say it out loud, not even for Steve. His pretty Stevie, his _boyfriend_ , his doll, his favorite. He wants to touch Steve’s dick. That’s probably what he ought to have started with instead of trying to break his own conditioning on a random Tuesday while taking a shower. He should have pushed up into one of Steve’s kisses and then put his hand on Steve’s thigh while they were watching television. Ancient Aliens isn’t as distracting as Steve sometimes pretends it is.

Stevie's always packed a pretty solid piece, even when he was a tiny little thing. When he could get it up, it got _up_. Bucky thinks about feeling Steve up now, the way Steve would start out soft but firm under Bucky's palm. Bucky likes yoga pants and leggings but Steve wears sweat pants around the apartment, cozy and soft, over cotton boxer briefs. Nothing would be too rough on Steve's skin as he chubbed up under Bucky's attention.

Bucky pauses to slick his hand up with some of his fancy moisturizing body wash. When he pushes back into his own grip, his eyes flicker closed and his mouth drops open. His balls draw up and, yeah, that's more like it. That's him getting closer and just needing a little more to tip him right on into orgasm. His stomach is tense and he can't tell if it's entirely positive anymore - it might be nerves about to kick over into nausea. Whether he comes or not, he needs to finish this up soon before the negative side effects ruin the good he's found in this.

That's not how he wants this to end. But the tension, the bad kind, is creeping up his back and making his shoulders tight. His cock, when he looks down at it in his hand, kind of looks angry and Bucky sympathizes, he really does. Bucky wants the orgasm hovering just out of his reach, would want it even if the alternative weren't a freezing cold shower to calm his body down.

Fuck Hydra for making him afraid of this, for bending his body to their will instead of his own. None of this is for them; it's his, has been since the moment he first discovered that he could use his dick for more than just taking a piss.

And he was wrong - he wants to touch Steve's dick but Bucky wants to touch his own dick more. Deserves it. Stevie's hard on isn't some consolation prize and Bucky doesn't want to treat it like that, doesn't want to grit his teeth to get his boyfriend off like it's an assignment from his therapists while he can't even handle himself. No, when he gets his hands on Steve, it's going to be because he wants to make them both feel good, wants them both to enjoy themselves. They _will_ enjoy themselves, because Bucky can do this, is allowed to do this. He rubs his thumb up over the head of his dick, presses against the slit there.

Bucky's body belongs to Bucky.

The orgasm wrenches something along his spine, some muscle low in his back. His torso curls forward like he has to protect his vulnerable belly and his sides heave as he pants, tries to pull in enough air so he doesn't feel winded. It's like the aftermath of a hell of a fight, like the lightheaded feeling after running full out for too long. His fingers are a little numb and his toes are cramping up.

Everything in his body is too tight, too much, and then everything is relief. It's like electricity that's gentle, like lightning safely harnessed and given to him as a birthday present. It's everything the Chair wasn't, even as his head goes back and his jaw clenches.

Some of his semen splatters against his chest. More of it drips from his hand. The shower water washes some of it away but he's definitely going to need to soap up again once he can breathe, once he can stand up without worrying about falling down.

Bucky almost loses his balance when he gives himself one more friendly stroke; his dick is oversensitive, almost raw. He needs a better lubricant but he mostly, he thinks, needs to lay down and take a nap. He pats himself, winces back from it; the sensation is still too much to take even though he's starting to go soft now.

The bathroom feels too hot now, the steam too thick. Bucky goes through the motions of washing himself again, caught in a strange limbo where he wants to hurry but his arms are just too rubbery to really rush. He rinses off, then turns the water off, drips in place for a moment.

Steve's seem him naked before and even if he hadn't, Bucky doesn't think it would be a big deal. So Bucky scrubs himself mostly dry with one of the big, soft towels that are one of his favorite things about living in the future. Once he's dry, he pads back to Steve's bedroom, bare feet silent on the wooden floor. 

The bed, their bed, is just as he left it, a mess of pillows and blankets. 

Bucky climbs in, worms around until he's made himself a comfortable nest. Steve will come back from his workout at some point and wonder where Bucky is, will probably find him and drag him out of sleep because the day Steve Rogers lets Bucky be lazy is a rare day indeed. But in the meantime, Bucky closes his eyes and lets himself smile.

That was way better than humping the mattress in his sleep.

Hydra can go fuck themselves, Bucky thinks. He's going to practice. And once he's made friends with his dick again, well. Then he'll show Stevie just how much his body likes cuddling up next to Steve's body. Bucky likes to share what's his.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are the best things ever. Also saying hi on Tumblr is awesome; find me there as sharpestscalpel. I'm sitting at the new kids' table.


End file.
